


Tenderness

by irinushka



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Napoleon is Bad At Feelings, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 10:12:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7753645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irinushka/pseuds/irinushka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya Kuryakin does not have many soft bits, but the ones he does have Napoleon has traced with his hands like markings on a map.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tenderness

Illya Kuryakin does not have many soft bits, but the ones he does have Napoleon has traced with his hands like markings on a map.  
  
First, there's his mouth. Napoleon loves his mouth, not even in a filthy way. Well okay, not entirely in a filthy way.  
  
It usually looks so sullen, but not when he makes Illya laugh. It's never a loud sound, but the corners of his lips quirk up and his eyes crinkle and it makes Napoleon's heart stick in his chest each time it happens.   
  
Then there's how it looks post-kiss. Redder and a little swollen, cupid's bow more pronounced and absolutely gorgeous. Even thinking of it sends a little bolt of heat down his spine.   
  
Next, his neck. Perfect for leaving hickies on, sure, but also perfect for pressing his face to.   
  
It's comforting in a way that Napoleon hadn't thought possible, to be held by Illya and tuck his head into the space between his throat and shoulder and inhale. He always smells warm. Like shaving soap and aftershave (Napoleon's own that he pilfers, but the aroma is different on him, somehow) and something unidentifiable but good.   
  
He's ticklish there too, especially if Napoleon's nose is cold. It's adorable, not that he'd ever tell Illya that. He'd probably get kicked out of bed saying so.  
  
Then there's the inside crest of his hips, where the skin is stretched thin over the bone. Napoleon loves to stroke over the shape they make with his fingers and press kisses there when he's on his knees.   
  
He likes to draw it out. Not entirely because he's a torment, either. No, it's more because each time they go to bed together, he treasures it. Every single moment is golden and always seems to flit by too quickly, so by drawing it out, he leaves himself more time to try and remember every little detail.

 

So he kisses a line connecting hipbone to hipbone and bites a mark there just to feel Illya's hand tighten in his hair and tries to make it last.

 

Finally, there's the spaces between his fingers. That's not to say they hold hands often, though. Napoleon sighs. He wishes it happened more, but asking for it is out of the question – he does have some pride left, thank you very much – and Illya is hardly the type to initiate.

 

Although – _hm_. He frowns. That's not quite true. The last time they'd done it, Illya had made the first move. Then again, the last time was hardly an occasion he looks back upon fondly.

 

He'd been stabbed. He'd been stabbed and he was in the back of Gaby's car, driving toward the hospital at breakneck speed, but it wasn't looking good. Punctured lungs rarely do, and there'd been so much blood. He was slumped across Illya's lap as he tried desperately to keep Napoleon awake and between his eyes slipping shut and being pulled from the car and onto a stretcher he'd felt the ghostly sensation of Illya's fingers slipping between his. Of them being tacky with blood, and Illya going _please, please, please._

 

He'd said some other things, but they were in Russian and Napoleon was almost too delrious to register speech at that point, let alone translate another language.

 

He shudders, suddenly feeling his healed wounds anew. Something suspiciously like hope twists in his guts, and he needs to stamp it out, lest he get any grand ideas, because there's a little bit of him that's going _but- but- but-_

 

But what if he does care for you as something other than a was to pass the time?

 

But what if he wants you properly?

 

But what if he loves you too?

 

_Nonsense._ He's talking absolute nonsense.

 

It was shock talking, when Illya had been begging him to stay awake and tenderly stroking the hair back from his brow and slipping into his mother tongue. After all, they'd only just been sprung from an especially hairy torture session. As tough as Illya is, being powerless to stop his partner being slashed at and hurt messes with his head more than actual torture does. Napoleon reading into it as something deeper feels wrong, like an invasion of privacy.

 

He huffs out a mirthlless laugh. The irony of him, a spy, feeling bad about invading someone's privacy doesn't escape him.

 

No, he needs to not lose his head over this. He's tired and sleep isn't coming easy and that always makes him dangerously pensive.

 

Illya is – Illya is everything to him, if he's honest. Between him and Gaby, he's built himself a home away form home. A found family. Just because him and Illya fall into bed together and wake up smooshed against one another sometimes, it doesn't mean they're in love. It doesn't mean they're going to ride off into the sunset together. God, in their profession, they're lucky to reach 40, let alone have long-term romantic plans.

 

Napoleon takes a deep breath and lets it out slow. He's becoming melancholy. Being without company and insomnia always do this to him.

 

He sits up in bed and flicks the lamp back on, reaching for one of the books he has stacked on the bedside table. A terrible spy pulp novel is just what he needs to distract himself from this. Hell, he could write a novel of his own just correcting all the mistakes in it.

 

(And if a traitorous thought about how much nicer it would be to be sat in bed with Illya as he reads enters his head, well. That's neither here nor there.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaaah, this was a one word prompt challenge (the word I was given was "soft") and it was supposed to be a drabble, but it kind of got away from me, oops!
> 
> Come say hi on [tumblr](%E2%80%9Dhotcommunist.tumblr.com%E2%80%9D) \- I'm always open to new fic ideas/prompts!


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